CHAPTER IX
Smithfield
In the dawn of Saturday London streets were all astir. On all thestreets and amid the lanes close by Thames the Flemish widows bewailedtheir dead. On Cheapside and along Cornhill men were met together;some there were in bands with banners, and some singly. Also there ranup and down certain fellows that cried:--
"Go ye to Smithfield, good folk, 't is the King's will to meet withyou in that place."
Others shouted: "Wat Tyler biddeth you to Smithfield, all theFellowship."
Whereat there were a-many laughed; and they said: "Do we the biddingof Wat Tyler, or is the King our liege and lord?"
But there were others frowned.
"Heard ye Wat in Dame Emma's tavern last night?" they said, and theirbrows bent dark.
"In Norfolk do we dub so proud speech treason."
Then looked every man over his shoulder hastily.
"Wat was drunk," quoth one after a little.
"When a man 's drunk he spills more than his victual," other answeredhim.
"Wat Tyler biddeth you to Smithfield, all the Fellowship!" bawled thecrier.
"Wat Tyler's leader of the Fellowship, what harm?"
"Or John Ball?"
"I 'm of Jack Straw's menye."
"Good folk, good folk, to Smithfield,--do the King's bidding!" shoutedanother crier.
"Afore all I 'm King's man," said a Kentish villein.
"And I!"
"And I!"
"God keep the King!"
These things, and more after this same manner, the people said one toanother in the way to Smithfield. By New Gate they went, and Moor Gateand Alders Gate, for this Smithfield was without the wall beyond SaintBartholomew's; a market square, wherein butchers slaughtered theirbeef, a foul, ill-smelling place; and every man that went thither onthat June day was in some kind a butcher, with hosen bespattered withblood, and brown patches dried on tabard and courtepy. Neither hadthey cleaned their knives and knotted bludgeons, but came as they wereto Smithfield, dull-eyed with wine and sleep.
"What is to be the end?" they said; and there were some whispered: "'Twere well if we had let be the Flemings"--
"Lay not that on us! 'T is the London men shall answer for 't."
"I saw a-many men from Kent did"--
"Mark ye, brothers, 't is not the Flemings will undo us, but oldSimon, the Archbishop. There was a foul deed." So spake Hobbe thesmith, and all they that heard him crossed themselves.
"Who saith we 're undone?" blustered a fellow out of Sussex. "Have wenot the King's pardon, and villeinage is dead?"
Nevertheless, 't was a sober company choked the narrow streets andswayed about the gates pressing to Smithfield.
And now the King came forth from the Garde Robe, his white-lippednobles with him, and rode through Temple Bar and along the Strand pastCharing Cross and John of Gaunt's blackened palace to the Abbey atWestminster. Mayor Walworth was with the King, and Salisbury andBuckingham and the other nobles that had sheltered in the Tower, butthey were not many, and they were very pale. Stephen walked with hishand on the King's bridle, and this was the last time he should do theKing this service, but he was not aware, nor the King neither.Nevertheless, Stephen knew that he must one day reckon with thenobles; and if not with the nobles then with the peasants. Howbeit, inthis hour he took no keep of his own soul and body, but pondered howthe quarrel should end.
There was little speech among the nobles. These were brave men, butfaint with much watching and bewildered. That all England should beturned up-so-down by peasants and common folk was a thing not to bebelieved; nevertheless, the nobles knew that the Prior of Bury SaintEdmunds was slain by a mob near Newmarket, and also Sir JohnCavendish, Chief Justice of England, who was on circuit in Suffolk,but the rioters overtook him hard by Lakenheath. They knew that SaintAlbans was up, and already rumours were come up out of Northampton andCambridge and Oxford. There was fear of Leicestershire and Somerset;what Yorkshire would do might not be determined. 'T was whispered thatmany lords of manors and noble ladies wandered homeless amid theforests of Kent, bewailing their manor-houses sacked and burned. Thesethings the nobles pondered as they rode from the city to Westminsteron Saturday, being the fifteenth day of June in that year, the fourthof King Richard II.
Howbeit, neither at Westminster was found peace, for there came forthof the Abbey a procession of monks, penitents, bearing the cross. Thenwith groans and tears did these monks tell their tale:--
"O Lord King, the Abbey is defiled!"
"At the shrine of that most holy one, Edward the Confessor, blood isspilled."
"Sire, avenge us!"
"Richard Imworth is slain, King Richard."
"Richard Imworth, warden of the Marshalsea, is murdered, sire!"
"His hand was even on the tomb of the Confessor."
"The people have shed blood in the church!"
"Sire, punish!"
"Who will save us?--The Archbishop is slain!"
Then did Richard light down off his horse and kissed the cross; and myLord Buckingham, the King's uncle,--that strong man,--burst into tearsand ran into the church. And presently, all those great nobles andpuissant gentlemen were within, running up and down with tears andsighs to kiss and clasp the shrines and the most holy relics, sobbingand shuddering liker to weak women than warriors; striving as whoshould kneel more close to holiness,--and all the tombs and sacredplaces wet with their weeping. King Richard knelt to pray at theConfessor's shrine and bade call a father to confess him his sins,which when he had done, the King went out soberly to his horse. Andall this while Stephen stood without the church holding the King'shorse by the bridle. So when the King was in his saddle they twowaited silent, and one after one the knights and nobles came forth;and 't would seem they were greatly strengthened by those prayers andconfessions, for now they spoke together somewhat concerning ways andmeans.
"If the peasants can be drawn forth of the city and the gates closed,sire," said Walworth, "methinks we may hold against them. There bemany loyal citizens of London, and many more since yesterday, forthere begin to be murmurings against Wat Tyler."
"My Lord Mayor," said Buckingham harshly, "you will do well toremember that one walketh at the King's bridle who maketh boast toserve these rebels."
"I am the King's servant likewise," said Stephen.
"Were the good Archbishop on live," quoth Salisbury very grave, "Imake no doubt he would say a man may not serve two masters."
"The King and the people are one, my lord."
There was a murmur, yet none dared speak openly his discontent.
Then said Richard, nor turned his face to right nor left but rodestraight forward: "The King is the people."
Nevertheless, neither Stephen nor the nobles might read his meaning,and 't were marvel if himself knew what he would do.
So they rode again through Temple Bar, but at Lud Gate they turnednorthward without the city wall and on past New Gate, where peasantsfollowed them. And when they had passed by Saint Bartholomew's theycame into Smithfield, and the people were pressed together, a mightythrong, at one side of the open square and beyond. But Will Langlandwas not with the peasants at this time; he knelt in his cot onCornhill by the side of his wife, chaunting a prayer for the dead, andhis daughter was on her knees at the other side, and there burned talltapers at head and foot of the bier. It may well be that those deedswhich befel at Smithfield had not befallen thus and so if WillLangland and his daughter Calote had been in that company; but asconcerning these things, who shall prophesy?
Now what followeth is known right well of all the world, to wit, thatpart that is writ in the chronicles, as how Wat Tyler came across thesquare sole alone to have speech of the nobles; and this he didwithout fear, being upholden by that law of chivalry whereby a heraldand a messenger may not be evil entreated of an enemy; and these wereknights and gentles, flow'r of chivalry, wherefore though Wat Tylerloved them not at all, yet did he tr
ust them. Nevertheless, he spaketoo bold, with a brawling tongue and small courtesy. He made plainthat he would be master, and the people was minded to rule England.
"Give me the King's dagger!" quoth he curt; and Richard gave hisdagger into his squire's hand and bade him give to Wat Tyler; andStephen did the King's bidding. Good Mayor Walworth, at the King'sright hand, swelled purple, and those others, nobles, cursed betwixttheir teeth.
Then said Wat Tyler: "I will have the King's sword."
"Nay, Wat, art mad?" protested Stephen. "This is majeste, have acare!"
"Let him take the sword an he will," said the King, and Wat Tyler putforth his hand to take it, but the Lord Mayor might not any longerwithhold his wrath, and on a sudden he had struck Wat, who fell downoff his horse; and, hatred being let loose, those knights and noblegentlemen immediately stabbed him so that he died. Then looked theyone on another, and on this man that had trusted them. And into theirshamed silence came voices of the peasants across the square.
"What 's to hap?"
"They are making him a knight!"
"Yea, yea!"
"I saw the blow!"
"Nay, hath fallen."
"Treason!"
"Wat!--Treason!"
"Slain!"
As they were carven in stone those nobles stood, white horrorstiffened on their faces, to see a thousand bowstrings drawn as one,and deadly long-bows bent;--'t would seem all England held her breathawaiting chaos. Then King Richard, that fair child, true son ofPlantagenet, rode out into that moment's tottering stillness, alone,with his face set towards those thousand straining arrows.
"I am your leader!" he cried, "I am your King!" and came into theirmidst smiling.
They leaped about him crying and singing, as 't were his valour hadmade them drunk. A-many broke their bows in twain across their knees.As on the Friday at Mile End, so now they kissed his feet; blessingswent up as incense. And he laughed with them and wept and called thembrothers.
"This is to be a king!" he cried with arms uplift to heaven. For heknew that he was ruler of England in that hour.
A little while he stayed with them, their eyes worshipful upturnedever to his as he rode hither and yon in the press, their voices,gladsome wild, ever in his ear, till the spell of their love sowrought with him that he was made a lover. In his heart Mercy andTruth were met together, Rightwisness and Peace had kissed. If hispeople had wronged him, he knew it not; Love sat in the seat ofMemory, Suspicion had drunk a sleeping potion.
"This is to be a king!" cried Richard.
"'Then came there a king, knighthood him led, Might of the commons made him to reign.'"
And John Ball at his stirrup said, also out of the Vision:--
"'Love is leech of life and next our Lord's self, And also the straight way that goeth into heaven.'"
"Heaven?" murmured Richard, and after very soft, twixt prayer andamaze, "Thy kingdom come."
So he turned about and rode at a slow pace, as one in a dream, acrossthe square to his nobles, and there was on his face a shining look asof one who seeth a vision.
"This is the bravest man in all England to-day, and he is our King,"said old Salisbury, and Richard smiled, eyes and mouth radiant,flashing as the sun.
Then said Mayor Walworth, who was ever a blunt man, "Now will I rideswift into the city, sire, and man the wards and bring hither SirRobert Knollys, and his retainers shall surround these fellows andbreak their pride."
Richard turned to look on the Mayor, the smile fading. As one thatwaketh out of a sweet dream and encountereth the old perplexity he hadthought was laid, so Richard stared; and there grew in his eyes a lookof fear.
"What need?" he said, and drew rein as he would scape anew to hispeople.
Then came the Earl of Salisbury close, and who had looked in the oldman's face the while he spoke to Richard might not fail to see a greatpity therein.
"Sire," he said, and the pity was in his voice likewise,--"sire, 'twere not wise these peasants come again into the city. They havewrought too great havoc; we may not trust them."
As one who strives to gather his wits Richard sat, with dumb eyesfixed on the old Earl. His lip quivered.
Salisbury began anew, very patient and soft, as one speaketh to acreature that is frighted, or to a child: "My lord, the people haveobtained that they asked, now they ought to disperse and wend themhomeward. To this end 't were well thou lead them out into the fieldsto speed them on their way."
"Yea," Richard answered slow. "Then what need of Sir Richard Knollysand his retainers?"
"The men of Kent must go again through London to cross the river bythe Bridge,--bethink thee of yesterday, sire"--
"Yesterday is dead!" the boy cried. "I and my people are at peace!"
"Natheless, sire, hearts are as tinder."
"Then wherefore set them afire by the steel of armed knights?"
"Nay, my liege, but if these peasants be penitent, wherefore shallthey refuse to be escorted thorough that fair city wherein theybehaved so ill?"
"I will not betray my people," cried Richard, a sob in his voice.
"Disperse them only, my lord. Though there be many loyal, natheless wedo know of surete that there be certain among them like to this Tyler,would make themselves King. Thyself hast seen how they are easily ledthis way and that, for good or ill. Remember the Archbishop, sire."
There shot a spasm of anguish athwart the King's face. "I will leadthem into the fields. They shall be dispersed," he said with a loud,unsteady voice. "But I have set them free. I will not betray them! Iwill not betray them!"
And riding away he was presently in the midst of the peasant rout,laughing, leading them to Clerkenwell. But his cheeks werefever-bright, and the look of fear faded not out of his eyes. Withquips and merry gests he lured them on, and he bethought him how thatStephen had said that night in the Tower, "They 'll be led like littlechildren," and so they were.
"Hearken, my people," said Richard, wistful, "none standeth between usany more. Would ye that Wat Tyler had made himself your King?"
"King Richard!--King Richard!" they shouted.
"None standeth between us any more, mes amis,--neither noble, norcommon man"--
"Nor archbishop," cried one, but a tumult of voices smothered him,with:--
"Nay--'t was Wat slew the Archbishop!"
And when they saw the cloud on Richard's brow, they cried yet moreloud, as in a frenzy:--
"'T was Wat!--'t was Wat! Long live King Richard!"
But John Ball was not now in that throng, nor Jack Straw; they hadfled away.
And now came Sir Robert Knollys with his knights and men-at-arms,retainers, surrounding the peasants that were as patient as sillysheep, for they looked upon their young shepherd and trusted him. Sowhen certain of those soldiers would have fallen upon the people toslay them, King Richard arose in his saddle and forbade them, sayingin anger:--
"These are my children,--mine! mine!--Let not a hair of their heads beharmed. If they had hearts of men, might they not slay me even now,beholding this foul ambush by which they are taken? But they are asbabes doing my bidding. They have faith, even though I lead them intobondage."
Then he burst into tears, very passionate, and screamed loud andhoarse:--
"I have set them free! Do ye hearken?--I have set them free,--free! OChrist, I am not traitor to my people!"
My Lord Salisbury likewise forbade violence, and Richard, when he haddried his tears and got his voice, spoke again to the people and madethem to know as how the men of Kent must homeward, and others in peaceto north and west. And when they had set forth obedient, Richard rodeinto the city, the light as of a conqueror in his eyes. Nevertheless,behind this there lurked the look of fear.
Meanwhile in Smithfield Wat Tyler lay dead of his wounds. And whenRichard led the peasants out to Clerkenwell, and the nobles rode intothe city to bring succour, Stephen only remained. But presently JohnBall came forth of a house, and when they two saw that no manhindered, they took up the
body of poor Wat and bore it within theChurch of St. Bartholomew and laid it decently at the east end of thenave.
"Wat hath lost us London," said John Ball. "But who might believe thattrue knights and noble gentlemen would so sin against courtesy! Ourhope now is to keep the shires stirring. I 'll not stay in thisdeath-trap, but carry the spark to northward. Yorkshire ought to be upby now, if the message carried, and Cheshire, and Somerset. God keepthee, brother! While the breath 's in our bodies we may fan theflame." The priest was gone, and Stephen sat him down by the body towatch.
So after the day was won and the peasants scattered, Mayor Walworthbethought him of Wat Tyler and came again to Smithfield to seek him.But finding naught except blood where the dead man had fallen, hesearched diligently, as did two aldermen that were with him, and inthe end they found that they sought.
"Have him forth!" said the Mayor. "'T is no place for traitors in achurch."
"Good Master Walworth," pleaded Stephen, "this man was more honestthan many. He followed truth,--and we be all stumblers. If he soughtto take the King, what did he more than John of Gaunt would do, orothers of the noblesse? I have lived with Wat Tyler as he were mybrother;--I know him that he sinned being ambitious, but this sin heshareth with John of Gaunt and better men; and not for himself alonedid he desire to rule England, but for the sake of the poor that is sodown-trodden. But John of Gaunt for power and his own sake only. Iknow him that he was a wrathful man,--but who so wrathful wild as EarlPercy of Northumberland, natheless men do him courtesy."
"Master Fitzwarine," made answer the Mayor, "give up thy sword andyield thee prisoner, for that thou defendest traitors and murderers,disturbers of the King's peace. This man hath slain the Archbishop ofCanterbury."
"'T is very true, if Wat Tyler is traitor then am I likewise," saidStephen, and gave up his sword. And one of the aldermen bound him witha rope to lead him away. Then did Mayor Walworth take Wat Tyler's bodyby the heels, and dragged it forth into Smithfield and hewed the headfrom the trunk. This he did with Stephen's sword. After, he gave thehead to that other alderman, not him that bound Stephen, and bade himtake down the Archbishop's head from London Bridge and set Wat Tyler'swhere that one had hung; and these things were done. But Stephen wascast into a dungeon in the Tower.
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